Just One Fragging Date, Please
by valkyrie.fe
Summary: Circumstances for a single, silly little date shouldn't be so damned complicated...


Circumstances for a single, silly little date shouldn't be so damned complicated, Smokescreen decided - especially when the thing was started as a joke, anyway. When he and Jazz had finally decided they wanted to be a little more than a fling, a little more exclusive than "friends with benefits" as their human compatriots so quaintly put it, the Porsche had put in that he'd get to "wine and dine" Smokescreen. (Another fine human idiom - Jazz was rife with them.) Amused, Smokescreen had no issue with the plan.

The first interruption could be accepted easily - the unpredictability of enemy attacks was a part of war they'd accepted long ago. So this the Autobots had gotten past, Smokescreen remarking in jest that they'd now have to reschedule their little date. And so they had... only to have an officer's meeting sprung on them. Naturally, this resulted in more paperwork for Smokescreen - though it was an anthill compared to what Jazz had to slough through. Again, the date was put off until things were less crazy and busy for them both.

But now, Smokescreen decided, now this was approaching utterly ridiculous, upon being informed of the short mission Jazz was to command. Sure, it was only for a few orns, but by the Pits this was frustrating! Joking or not, the Datsun had decided he _did_ want to go on a silly little date with Jazz, and while he was more than capable enough of realizing that the war wasn't going to stop and wait for him to have his shot at romance, he felt he had the right to be frustrated! "Either fate or Prowl doesn't want us on that stupid date. I haven't decided which," Smokescreen had grumbled when seeing Jazz off. The saboteur had chuckled.

"First thing when I get back. Promise," he'd replied.

And _now_ the damn fool couldn't even keep that promise, and their plans went all to slag again. All because he'd let a fragging Cassetticon sneak up on him. Ravage had managed the element of surprise, doing some damage to Jazz's knee and elbow where he'd fought off the felinoid. Bumblebee hadn't been far away and was enough backup to drive Ravage away. Jazz couldn't transform, however, and they'd had a painful walk back within enough range to call Ratchet for transport.

Smokescreen was at the doors when Ratchet deemed the medbay open for visitors an orn later. He said nothing to the medic as he bee-lined for the med-berth where Jazz lay. Standing at the saboteur's side, he waited for Jazz to look at him (he probably was already, beneath that visor of his), which the Porsche did at an unconcerned pace. Doorwings hiked up and his hands on his hips, Smokescreen frowned down at him.

"You idiot," he said flatly.

Jazz snickered. "Missed you, too."

Smokescreen sighed. "You realize how ridiculous this is?"

"That Soundwave's pet kitty snuck up on me?"

The quirk of an optic ridge and a petulant scoff were all it took to make Jazz cackle. Smokescreen shook his head and relaxed his posture, leaning against the med-berth. "Well, that was pretty stupid, too," he replied finally.

"Thanks a million, I'll remember that," Jazz chuckled. He settled on the berth, a soft sigh slipping from his vents. "I know you really wanna go on that date."

"It was your idea," the Datsun said.

"And you liked it," Jazz countered.

Smokescreen paused for a moment. "And apparently it was fate that didn't," he sighed. This shouldn't bother him so much. Slag happens - and the war was one big pile of slag.

"Fate can kiss m'aft," the Porsche replied, visor glinting. "Now lean down like a good mech an' lemme whisper sweet nothins in that audio." Jazz snickered again when he only received a blank look, but he motioned Smokescreen down anyway. Rolling his optics, the Datsun complied, sure that Ravage must have done more than mangle Jazz's knee and arm. Sweet nothings? Really?

-:-

"Ratchet is going to kill me," Smokescreen informed the mech at his side. Jazz had to rely heavily on the Datsun's slightly larger frame, but he was able to hobble down the hall beside the red and blue mech. The Ark was quiet with the late night, the mechs on patrol and guard shift not paying much attention to the pair moving carefully through the corridors.

"Just tell 'im it was my idea," the saboteur replied cheerfully. The Porsche's whole manner was gleeful, which annoyed Smokescreen. He also found it endearing... which was also annoying.

"Right, so he can have your head first, and then mine for assisting an obvious lunatic," the Datsun remarked.

Jazz chuckled. "So stick with me 'nd we'll be back before Mama Hen ever knew we left," he practically sing-songed. Exasperated, Smokescreen gave up, helping Jazz along in silence for a breem before he spoke again.

"Where are we going, anyway?"

"Not too far," was the answer.

Smokescreen frowned. "How cryptic," he said with a snort. Jazz chortled again but said nothing more. Soon, he directed them to an empty conference room. It was large, with a long table in the center, and the lights that clicked on automatically when they entered were dim. Taking in that last detail with a quirked optic ridge, the Datsun looked back at the mech at his side, but was cut off before he could open his mouth.

"The light settin' wasn't my doin'," Jazz said, his tone amused. "Prowl keeps'm set that way so they don' interfere with th' projections and holos he presents t' Prime." Venturing away from Smokescreen's side, he staggered to the table, fiddling with one of the panels on its surface.

"Wait, let me get this straight - you're wandering from medbay in the middle of the night to come in here and play with something of Prowl's? You do know your injuries aren't _that_ severe, don't you?" Smokescreen commented, walking forward when Jazz swayed, despite his grasp on the table. The saboteur was laughing at him again, though, continuing to mess with the settings he'd found.

"S'not a last-wish thing," he replied, grinning.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Smokescreen mumbled. "You hang around Sideswipe too much, then."

"Like you don't."

The Datsun just snorted, keeping a steadying hand on Jazz's waist while he continued doing whatever it was he'd decided to do. They spent several more moments in silence before Smokescreen couldn't resist asking another question.

"Should I even bother asking what you're doing?"

Jazz was quiet for another moment before hitting a final button and grinning up Smokescreen. The dim lights dimmed further and the projectors whirred to life.

"Saw this place out on my mission," the saboteur explained. "And took loads o' pictures. Obviously we can't go there now, with my limbs in this mess… so I figured I could bring it to you in a way."

Jazz had fed enough pictures and information into the projectors for them to display a 3-dimensional interpretation of a lake at sunset. Purple and red filled the conference room, startling Smokescreen with its beauty. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it hadn't been this. The golden sands of the lakeshore contrasted the colors of the lake and sky, extending out into several impressive rock formations.

Smokescreen reached out, his hand hovering near a red plateau, as though longing to touch it but also unwilling to ruin the projector's work. "Jazz, this is…"

"Indescribable?" the Porsche offered with a grin, after Smokescreen was unable to grasp an appropriate word. Though his glossa was as sharp as ever, he couldn't hide how pleased he was at the reaction his little show had gained. The Datsun snorted.

"In a different way than what you call wit," he retorted, unable to keep a straight face. Shaking his head, the Datsun gazed back over at Jazz, an unusually gentle smile on his lips. "For all that we've just snuck around to use our dear second-in-command's equipment for an unintended purpose... this first date of ours is rather cozy."

Jazz grinned up at Smokescreen. "Aw c'mon now, y'know a date ain't no fun unless yer sneakin' away from creators," he said teasingly, visor glinting.

Smokescreen met him with another of his flat gazes. "You're silly," he told the Porsche, leaning forward until they were nose-to-nose.

"You like it," Jazz accused, smirking.

Grinning, Smokescreen stole a kiss from Jazz's lips. "So what?" This close he could very faintly see the outline of optics beneath the saboteur's visor.

"You'd steal kisses from a poor injured 'bot?"

Laughing softly, the Datsun leaned in again. "Hmm, hadn't thought of it that way before," he replied, optics dancing with mirth. "Here, let me give it back..."


End file.
